


Moving On and Moving In

by ReoPlusOne



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Moving In Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 21:36:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3184019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReoPlusOne/pseuds/ReoPlusOne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moving was always going to be hard.  Moving on, he’d had to do plenty of times.  Moving in with England was something America had just never thought he was going to do until it happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moving On and Moving In

It was just a part-time thing, neither of them stayed in the same place for very long when they were single, and though they were no longer ‘single’ it was hard to describe them as ‘together’, at least in the way of being an item. They didn’t consciously decide to cuddle every night, England just reached over to grab a handful of popcorn from America’s lap and moved slightly closer to him in the process. And America would take the fact that he really was yawning that one time to his grave, because when he didn’t think about it and did put his arm around England’s shoulders he’d heard the most content sigh come from him. Like a kitten snuggling up to a sunlit window.

And that was the beginning of the startling realization that America had actually, unironically, compared England to a kitten.

But he was pretty catlike, when it came down to it. Every year when the annual ‘you may now join the British commonwealth!’ welcoming letter came in the mail America made a point of laughing and throwing it in the trash in front of everyone. And England would huff and bat his shoulder like an irritated tabby, foiled again but too prideful to say anything.

Every morning they spent together, after England had moved to pull up his ‘knickers’ and America had mumbled not to bother and rubbed his hand somewhat shyly against the warm spot on England’s hipbone, England would stretch. And every muscle in his back would twist and tremble as he yawned and America just peered out from atop his pillow, knowing that if he said a word England would be suddenly self-conscious and cover himself.

Every night, without America knowing, England would rifle through their shared dirty laundry pile and pick out a shirt of America’s, still smelling like his aftershave (he was shaving now, when did that start?) and put it on without a second thought. Though every day was a time for high blood pressure and grinding teeth, every night he had his own time for a little telly, and any moment he felt lonely he could glance around their empty house and inhale deeply, and still catch the slightest scent of America.

That is, until America came home early one evening as a surprise and found England dozing wrapped up in an old concert shirt of his, clutching the extra fabric to his chest like it was something precious. America felt almost bad seeing him that way, knowing how much embarrassment it would cause him when he woke up — and just as he prepared to announce his presence politely and get the usual grumbling and blushing, a small voice inside him told him not to.

And it really was the strangest thing, because he tiptoed back out the front door and knocked loudly, pretending to fumble with his keys for a solid ten seconds. And when he did come back in he realized that England was a horrible liar (‘What Ramones shirt?’ ‘I’m nude because it’s hot in here, actually!’) but more than that, he himself had changed a lot.

But it wasn’t really a bad thing.


End file.
